


Forget What You've Heard

by absoluteTomfoolery



Series: Yuri!!! On Stage [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Music Industry AU, My first Multi-chapter fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Singing Katsuki yuuri, What Have I Done, as well as my twitching hands, bear with me and my night owl tendencies, it's 3 AM and NOT beta read, please help me i don't know very much about the music industry hahahahahahahahelp, singing au, viktor is a Very Famous Man and Yuuri is Not Well Known, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteTomfoolery/pseuds/absoluteTomfoolery
Summary: "Music was everything to him. Whenever he could, if he was feeling anxious or depressed, he would spill himself onto ivory keys, scream in violin notes, or just belt out with Minako-sensei, using his emotions as an opportunity to practice. It was what he loved to do, what he was good at, it was his 'thing', and when you have a 'thing' of that calibre, you can never neglect it."Yuri!!! On Ice... but singing.





	1. Kamikaze

**Author's Note:**

> WHOOPS i uploaded this before finishing all the extra details haha
> 
> this is my first multi-chapter fic for yuri on ice and also, coincidentally, my first au
> 
> i tried to stick to the character's personalities as accurately as possible, so i can only hope i'm doing good.
> 
> anyway! a singing au.
> 
> stay tuned for yurio and others ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well I am your partner-in-crime boy, you should fly away with me."
> 
> Yuuri gets drunk, Phichit has fun making his best friend's dreams come true, and a window opened where a door closed.

Pale fingers folded a Juilliard rejection letter neatly. First into halves, then quarters, then eighths, sixteenths, and on until it couldn’t fold anymore from its density. He wanted to crumple it up instead, burn it, throw it into a volcano and watch it dissipate and burn before it reached the lava. He was angry, he was disappointed, he was devastated, emotions flooding and making his hands shake harder than when they were tearing apart the envelope.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit Chulanont whispered, placing his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry—”

Yuuri Katsuki shrugged his hand off, gently, remembering quickly that his friend was not to blame. “I’m fine,” he quickly dismissed, voice dropping decibels at the end. “I’m… fine.”

There was silence as Phichit rubbed circles on Yuuri’s back, then a choked strangled sound, and suddenly the taller was clinging onto his best friend for dear life, sobs racking his body with force.

This was what Yuuri had worked so hard for: a rejection letter. His parents, ever so supportive, had saved up money to send him to school in Detroit, and he studied very hard to make them proud; he majored in languages, but his true passion was music. He had struck a deal with his parents: focus on a major that he could get money from, then he could apply to any music school he wanted if he so wished.

Since he was a child living in Hasetsu, Japan, make music was all he had wanted to do ever since he heard a boy not much older than he, a prodigy, an angel with his voice, _Viktor Nikiforov_.

He still remembers, clearly, the first time he heard that voice on the radio. It was stunning, absolutely beautiful, resonating deep within him after the song faded out and the annoying host gushed about the Russian prodigy’s talent. He followed his every move after that, soaking up any information he could get about him.

When he was young, he had proven to be a prodigy in music after being enrolled in piano classes, then he took up the harp, and then he moved on to focus on vocal instruction. He had first drawn attention with an opera song at a local concert in his hometown, which was spread all over the news. At the concert, he was discovered by Yakov Feltsman, an influential man in the music industry. He was hired as then 14-year-old Viktor’s manager, and helped him train his voice to amazing lengths until he was old enough to be seriously considered as an artist in the eyes of the music industry. Meanwhile, he focused on his studies, but couldn’t help joining musicals and his local band program. Once he reached eighteen, he made acoustic music his focus, and when he got older, he settled comfortably into something called “blue-eyed” soul, which he sang in English. Yuuri would not have known any of this if Viktor had been under any other company than _Moonlight Entertainment_ , wildly recognized for its skillful team and ability to turn coal into diamonds, and diamonds into stars.

So he got piano lessons, too, which is where he met his childhood best friends, Yuuko and Takeshi, then violin lessons, and then, when he was fourteen, vocal lessons from Minako Okukawa, a former opera singer. He blossomed properly in music when he sang, able to reach heights and move people much more easily than with any other instrument. His voice was his strength, beautifully so, and once he deemed himself experienced enough, he began to perform for people locally. He sang covers most often, in Japanese first and then English once he got a better grip on the language. He practiced poetry in secret, keeping his original songs to himself, written in a notebook, locked in a box, trapped in a safe, hidden under a floorboard. All of his original music, of course, was heavily influenced by his idol, Viktor, but it was switched to his preferred genre, Alternative.

Music was _everything_ to him. Whenever he could, if he was feeling anxious or depressed, he would spill himself onto ivory keys, scream in violin notes, or just belt out with Minako-sensei, using his emotions as an opportunity to practice. It was what he loved to do, what he was good at, it was his _thing_ , and when you have a _thing_ of that caliber, you can never neglect it.

So he reached for the sky in music. He agreed to the deal with his parents, and took advantage of studying languages so that he can reach more people from different cultures with his singing, which he was _definitely_ going to focus on. He knew it was going to be hard; new artists were appearing every day, bringing new things to the table each time, and gradually the standards for who was _good_ changed to who was _great_ , and then who was _amazing_. It was how all performing industries worked, he knew: dancing, singing, hell, even _ice skating_ was unfortunately competitively (as if he could ever partake in _that_! Being watched by a huge crowd while you jumped, spun, and tried not to fall and _die_? No, thank you.). Everywhere you turned, there was someone better than you, so all that was left to do was be unique.

When he auditioned for Juilliard, in fact, being unique was his main focus. He wanted to stand out from the rest, but in doing so, he almost completely changed his style, and as soon as he left the room he had known he wasn’t going to be accepted.

He didn’t know why he was crying _now_ , actually, when he should have cried after he auditioned. He supposes he was still holding on to that last thread of hope; but now that the reality hit him so clearly, in his little studio apartment with his best friend, he had no choice but to burst into uncontrollable tears.

And Phichit was so amazing, always there for Yuuri, no matter what. When they first met, it was in high school, when he had traveled from Thailand to study abroad in Japan. They became fast friends through their same intense interest in music, despite Yuuri’s focus being vocal and Phichit’s being instrumental. Yes, Phichit was experienced in music in the same way that Yuuri was, but he grew addicted to remixing and sound editing instead of creating music manually. He was a composer, writing his own pieces classically, but also piecing together different songs on his computer. Even though the other couldn’t relate, he appreciated his talent nonetheless.

When he moved back to Thailand, they decided to stay in touch. Yuuri originally got the idea to move to Detroit after Phichit told him his plans to study in the United States, joking that Yuuri should join him, saying that “we can totally take the U.S. by storm, Yuuri! A musical duo from Asia, impossible to beat!” He seriously considered it after that, and when he brought it up to his parents, they thought it would be a good opportunity to immerse him in a different culture, and agreed almost immediately.

They stayed in dorms, at first, until they overgrew the community cafeteria and tiny room. Phichit, surprisingly, took up interior design as his major, and they both knew it was time to move out when he began to complain about the shoddy furniture and annoying placement of the window. So they hunted for apartments together until they found their studio, which Phichit explained would be an exciting challenge for him, and was decorated gradually as they were both still struggling college students. He was talented at interior design, too, every piece of furniture carefully chosen and arranged, sometimes cheap and sometimes not; their beds were made from recycled and painted wooden pallets, which were handy for drawers, actually, but their desks were from Ikea, and the flower on Yuuri’s window was actually in an old mug brought from Hasetsu.

It was expensive, so even with funding from their parents they still needed jobs. Phichit worked at a coffee shop downtown part-time, and Yuuri worked at a library. Sometimes, Yuuri would show up on open-mic nights and wow the Thursday evening crowd, which was unfortunately small, and occasionally Phichit would stop by to study near Yuuri, claiming that, “For some reason, it’s easier to study when you’re around, because when I make a joke about the digestive system, you’re there to tell me it _stinks_.” Yes, they were best friends.

As such, he comforted him with never-ending patience while Yuuri sobbed his little heart out, clinging to him with a strength unseen before. And Yuuri was appreciative, he really was, but he could not find the strength to say _Thank you for supporting me through this unreachable dream, Phichit,_ when he was busy trying not to wipe snot all over his best friend’s shoulder, throw up, or open the jar of vitamin gummies in the kitchen and swallow them all to end his suffering.

It was the only music school he had the chance to audition to since he had been busy with his own studies; he had placed it as a top priority, the goal, which had proven to be absolutely foolish of him in the end. Because of this, he began to cry even harder, weeping about how his future was ruined and he has run out of time. It took him a while to slow down and speak, but when he did, it was almost with desperation. “Now what am I going to do, Phichit?” he cried, immediately blowing his nose into a tissue right after. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t apply to any other music schools, and it’s almost too late for me to continue, I’ll be joining the industry when I’m _forty_ —!”

“Ssh, ssh, don’t you worry.” Phichit cooed, combing back his best friends hair comfortingly. “You’ll be fine, Yuuri, trust me. Everything will work out in the end, you’ll see.” This, of course, only made Yuuri more upset.

“How can you say that? You _know_ how the music industry is, you _know_ how it’s always changing, I--! This is what I’ve always wanted to do, Phichit, I’m _nothing_ without music!”

Phichit shook his head, and peeled the other off of his arm, shaking him gently to call him to attention. “Now, don’t you talk like that! You are amazing, and I believe in you with all of my heart! You _will_ find a way to success, I can feel it in my gut! Your chance is out there, waiting for you! You just have to go out and _take it!_ ”

Yuuri just sniffed and blinked at him. “R-Really?”

“Yes it is! And with your talent, it will happen just like _that_ ,” Phichit exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

“I… I don’t _know_ ,” Yuuri said, and he flopped back on his bed, wanting to mold into the green duvet and hide away from the world.

“Yuuri, do you trust me?” Phichit said, voice suddenly solemn, and the Japanese man sat up.

“Yes, Phichit, I trust you.” He replied firmly.

“Then,” Phichit said, turning to face Yuuri with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “to help you get this off your mind, we’re going to go _drinking_.”

“Oh god, Phichit, _no_!” he exclaimed, face turning bright red. “You _know_ what happened the last time we got drunk!”

“Yes, I remember what happened last time _very_ well, and I promise you, it won’t happen again! As long as we put our phones on Airplane mode before, it’ll be fine, you won’t text any ex-boyfriends!” Phichit exclaimed, and Yuuri groaned. He _definitely_ didn’t want to repeat that night, or the morning after, for that matter. “C’mon, I just want you to be happy.” He said, and he pulled the puppy-dog eyes he made every single time he wanted to go drinking. Of course he wasn’t just doing this for Yuuri, he loved alcohol, their favorite bar was nearby, and a drunk Yuuri was his favorite Yuuri, simply because he was always in need of blackmail material.

Yuuri stared at him for a long time before resigning. “And here I wanted to look at memes on Instagram and wallow in my own self-pity.” He said, but he quickly corrected himself. “But… thanks, Phichit. For everything.”

“Don’t say that as if it’s over.” Phichit teased, and he winked, before skipping over to his bathroom. “I’m going to get ready, yeah? You should be getting ready, too, you look like a mess!”

 

 

* * *

_The Vodka Vault_ was Phichit and Yuuri’s favorite bar, simply because it was close by, but also because it had good service and usually good entertainment. The DJ the bar always hires was Russian, a man named Georgi or George or something, and every time the duo stepped into the establishment before the peak hours, he’d be yelling about being unappreciated.

“Oh, he’s yelling again.” Phichit remarked as they walked in and heard his accent butchering English beautifully. “He’s good, but he’s such… a _diva_. The poor owner must be so annoyed.”

While Phichit looked around the bar, Yuuri ordered a Kamikaze, because why the fuck not, it’s not like life mattered anyway and the economy wasn’t crashing down around them.

“Hey, look, Viktor Nikiforov is in town for a concert.” Phichit remarked while Yuuri downed his shot. “Says he’ll be performing on the 17th. We should get tickets!”

“It’s _Viktor Nikiforov_ , Phichit,” Yuuri groaned. “tickets have probably been sold out since three years ago. The only way we’d get to meet him is if God himself presented us with tickets, and even then they’d be for the very back row and probably fake.”

“It’s amazing, though,” Phichit remarked, leaning back on the bar. “how little we know about him. He’s so private, but he’s always in the spotlight. How does he do it? We don’t even know if he has a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

Yuuri shrugged, too focused, now on his third shot. The bar was beginning to fill up properly now, and it was suddenly too quiet for such a big crowd. He glanced towards the stage where all of the DJ equipment was set up, but no Georgi to be seen. “What’s up with the music?” Yuuri asked, cheeks already flushed with the alcohol.

“Don’t know.” Phichit answered, and he was a heavy contrast to his half-drunk best friend, having been sipping from a water bottle the whole time. _Someone_ needed to stay sober so that they both didn’t _die_. “Wait, look over there.”

They both spotted Georgi, suddenly stomping up to the stage, ripping his USB off the computer, grabbing his coat, and storming off, the manager following behind him angrily. “Fine! Quit! DJs come a dime a dozen, you know!” the manager hissed, but Yuuri and Phichit both knew that was true and false at the same time.

Georgi ignored the manager and just stomped away, slamming the establishment doors behind him and leaving a slightly stunned crowd. “So does that mean there’s no music?” One patron called out, and there was a chorus of groans towards the direction of a panicked and flustered manager.

“Hey, Phichit,” the bartender, flirtatious Christophe Giacometti, began. “You should go up there instead. Your stuff on Spotify’s pretty good.”

“Should I?” Phichit asked, looking between Yuuri and Chris indecisively. “I don’t know if the crowd will like it.”

Yuuri nudged his best friend off of his stool. “Go, Phichit.” He encouraged. “Didn’t you tell me one time, uh, something about sticking your neck above the crowd or something?”

“That was a motivational poster of a giraffe, Yuuri, and it’s hung up above my bed, but yeah, you’re right!” He exclaimed, and without any further ado, he introduced himself to the manager as a DJ.

Yuuri looked on as at least _one_ of them made their dreams come true at least a _little_ bit faster, while he was stuck drinking at a bar in Detroit when he should have been singing in Juilliard. If only he hadn’t flubbed his audition, if only he had been good enough; a part of him always knew he was never going to a be a star, not because of the difficulty of the industry, but because he just wasn’t made for stardom. He figured it just wasn’t in his path, recognition for his efforts. He blamed it on his own incompetence. He had tried to start up a Youtube channel, he remembers, but it had failed miserably, and he hasn’t paid attention to it in ages. Through luck he couldn’t succeed, so he figured hard work would do, and yet here he was.

He watched as his best friend walked up to the stage and examined the equipment and laptop with a grin. _Must be familiar to him_. Yuuri figured, thinking back to all of the equipment on his side of the room back home. He grinned at the smile that grew on his face; it was endearing to see excitement so pure. Suddenly, their eyes met across the room and Phichit motioned him forwards. Yuuri glanced at Chris, who was staring in amazement at somewhere else, and figured that he wouldn’t notice if he stepped away from his drink for a second.

He made his way over to Phichit’s spot. “What is it?” he asked, and Phichit gave him a devious smile, which would have made the Japanese man afraid if he had been just a little bit sober; but he wasn’t, which he knew meant that Phichit could do virtually anything to him.

“So…” Phichit started as he pulled up his Spotify premium account and loaded his playlist. “I have a couple of songs on here that you could _totally_ sing to—”

“No.” Yuuri said firmly, interrupting his best friend. “No way.”

“Aw, c’mon!” he exclaimed. “Remember the giraffe? Who knows!” He glanced over to somewhere, eyes bright with excitement before looking back at Yuuri. “You might get discovered at any time!”

“Phichit, I just—”

His best friend thrusts the microphone into his hands anyway, shoving him to the center of the stage while he got his equipment ready. The bar’s lights were blinding, which kept the audience from visibility. He was half-drunk, devastated by his rejection from Juilliard, and kind of annoyed at the fact that his voice, as hard as he tried, was never going to be heard.

So yeah, it took just a little bit more than alcohol to agree to sing, but in the end, he agreed. He didn’t even care at this point. When was he ever going to see these people ever again, anyway? _Probably never, it really doesn’t matter_. He thought.

Suddenly, a soft bass and steady rhythm began, and he immediately recognized it as a true _VIKTOR_ original, straight from his earlier days in the industry when he first made his stage name, and his very favorite song, because it was raw, and true, and beautiful. He had practiced it in his room, in the shower, while he walked to school, listened to it until he was sick of it and drunk off of it at the same time. _Stay Close To Me_ , it was called, and he began, his trained voice flowing beautifully into the microphone.

It was his most emotional performance yet, he realizes halfway through; his voice was raw with inner turmoil, with longing for the man, his dreams, his future. He had never sung like that before, never, and when it finished, the bar erupted into applause, but Yuuri didn’t care. He was tired of the world’s cruelty, and he was ready to sing until he died.

“Encore!” A voice called, and it almost sounded familiar— almost. Yuuri wasn’t drunk enough to forget it completely, but not nearly sober enough to know who it was. He didn’t care. He just wanted to sing.

The song that followed was one by _The Cab_ , a personal favorite, which he had no issues singing, and the crowd loved. For a second, he thought he saw more people than usual, but he was sure the lights were just playing a trick on him, and the alcohol was certainly a big help. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore! He just wanted to sing, and Phichit respected that, no, _encouraged_ it beautifully. Oh, how thankful he was for his best friend. What would he do without him?

When he wasn’t singing, he was sitting next to Phichit, helping him out, occasionally taking requests to sing or to pass onto Phichit. Amazingly enough, he was having the most fun he’s ever had in Detroit—no, his entire _life_. Here, sharing the spotlight with his best friend, singing his favorite songs, drunk enough to let loose but not to become a stripper (he speaks from experience), it’s making adrenaline course through his veins in the most amazing dose. Why had he never done this before? He needs to listen to Phichit more—

Wait. _That_ sounds wrong. Yeah, no, he was never doing this again. He was sure this would come with negative consequences if he’s starting to think he should listen to _Phichit_ more, the King of Bad Ideas, so he slows himself down. Yeah, he’s finished.

Once the bar got a little bit more wild and Phichit stopped playing songs Yuuri could sing, he slugged back over to his spot at the bar, drained from his performance. People pestered him for his name, his phone number, _do you do parties?_ and _Are you single?_ He stopped giving out his phone number after the third person, and just let Christophe shoo the rest away so that he could drink himself under the table.

“Uh, Yuuri? I don’t mean to bother you here while you’re, uh, wallowing in self-pity or whatever, but I feel like you should really give this guy your phone number.” Chris suggested, glancing between him and the man standing beside Yuuri.

The man, in turn, groaned and grabbed the pen he had been using before, ripping off a bit of his napkin and sliding it to his left, not bothering to look at him. He was too drunk to remember faces, anyway, and it’s not like it mattered. “Could you give me your friend’s phone number, too?” the man asked, and Yuuri huffed, taking back the napkin and writing down Phichit’s number, too.

“Thanks… _Yuuri Katsuki_.” The man replied, his name rolling off his tongue beautifully. “I’ll give you a call.”

Yuuri, however, just waved him off and placed his forehead onto the marble counter of the bar, trying to drown out the music pounding in his ears with pure willpower. It didn’t really seem to be working.

“Oh, if only you weren’t so drunk, you’d be weeping with joy,” he heard Chris mumble, but by then, everything began to get fuzzy and buzzy, and the last thing he felt before he blacked out was Chris ruffling his dark hair.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up in his bed the next morning, thankfully and unfortunately still alive despite his efforts to drink himself dead. His throat ached, just a little, telling him that he had probably been belting out the night previous. When he opened his eyes, he immediately regretted it, because he was met with a blazing headache and his best friend, leaning over him in concern. Did Phichit wake him up? Probably.

“Yuu~ri!” he sang, eyes bright. “You have a text message~!”

The Japanese man narrowed his eyes, slowly sitting up from his uncomfortable position on his bed. “Jesus _fuck_ , what time is it?”

“9 AM!”

“Phichit… I know I asked you a question, but… shut the fuck up.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes as his best friend’s laugh boomed louder than usual. “Did I text someone something? Shit, not again—”

He grabbed his phone, yanking it off its charger ( _Smart thinking, drunk Yuuri._ ) and trying his best to read what the iMessage notification said. Oh, right, his glasses.

Phichit passed him his glasses, and when Yuuri put them on, he got a full view of his excited expression. It was mischievous, excited, happy… proud? It was weird, was his point, and when he glanced back to his screen, he was suddenly acutely aware why.

 _Hi Yuuri!_ The first message began as he scrolled down. _This is Viktor, from last night! I filmed a video of your singing and your friend’s music, and I can’t stop listening to it!_

Yuuri threw himself back on his bed, not believing absolutely _anything_ his eyes were telling him as Phichit’s joyful laughter filled the room.

_Give me a call whenever you can! I’d like to get to know you better._

Yuuri almost screamed, hangover suddenly cured as he pressed his face to his pillow in excitement.

_Also, my record label’s A &R team is excited to hear more! XOXO._

"See, Yuuri?" Phichit called out, snapping his fingers. "Just like that!"


	2. This Is What You Came For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And everyboy's watching her, but she's looking at you."
> 
> Yuuri meets Yuri, then Viktor, then fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Get Meme-y. They're college students. They live on memes and coffee, don't they?
> 
> not beta read

“Yuuri?”

He’s been sitting for a while now. His eyes have never left the wall opposite his bed and his hands hold the key to his career, his happiness, his future.

At exactly 8 AM on Saturday, July 12th, in the year of our lord 2000 and 16, _The_ Viktor Nikiforov, VIKTOR, Russia’s pride and joy, sent Yuuri Katsuki, trained vocalist with crippling anxiety and depression, a string of texts detailing three very, _very_ important events.

  1. Viktor wanted to meet Yuuri in person, properly,
  2. Viktor genuinely enjoyed Yuuri’s singing despite it probably being slurred and off tune,
  3. And Viktor showed the video of him singing to his record label’s A&R team, which expressed interest in his music and might (MIGHT) want to hear more.



Poor, poor Yuuri had never been presented with such an amazing opportunity before. He had the chance to _meet_ his childhood idol, have an honest conversation about music with him, and he may even be able to _work_ by his side! He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act, when to meet.

“Yuuuuri?”

He didn’t deserve this. If he didn’t deserve Juilliard then he didn’t deserve Viktor Nikiforov. He wasn’t worthy to even be in his presence. He wasn’t even worthy to sing one if his songs in front of a crowd and act like he could pull it off. He wanted to crawl under his covers and _die_ , reject Viktor’s offer purely for the purpose of saving the Russian the absolute mess that he was.

“YUURI!”

He jumped, having been interrupted from slowly crawling underneath his covers again and crying into his pillow. Phichit had been the one who yelled, hands on his hips, leaning over and staring at his best friend angrily.

“You can’t just hide in your bed forever!” He exclaimed. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you need to take it!”

“I don’t deserve to take it.” He answered sullenly, looking away in shame. “There’s someone out there more talented and more deserving. Like _you_.”

Phichit laughed, taking out his phone and showing him his own string of texts from the Russian. “He’s already offered me a deal, too. He also likes my sound editing abilities. He asked me if you were single.”

That did it. Yuuri could see his soul slip out of his body through his mouth, ascending into the heavens, finally at peace and away from this horrible, cruel world. _Goodbye, Phichit, it was nice knowing you._

“Since _I_ was the only one to respond to his texts on time, we’ve already set up a meeting for tomorrow at 10 AM. That way it won’t interfere with our work hours and it’ll give you a chance to sweat out your hangover.”

Yuuri was silent for a very long time, still trying to process everything that was happening. In less than 24 hours, he sang for Viktor Nikiforov, managed to please him, gave him his phone number, set up a meeting with him, and was _incredibly_ close to a record deal, when he worked his butt off for his entire life to get into a Juilliard, his dream school. Fate took a totally different route than expected, but honestly, he wasn’t complaining.

“You know what’s funny, Yuuri?” Phichit asked, turning away to get back to editing a new track he was working on. “I counted _six_ songs that he requested, all of them for you to sing. Isn’t that crazy?”

Yuuri buried his face in his knees, which were now closely drawn in to his chest.

“He looked like he was listening to something entirely new."

 

* * *

 

Despite Yuuri’s blazing hangover, work was mandatory.

Unlike others, may their souls rest in peace, Yuuri Katsuki was lucky to work in a library as an assistant. He wasn’t a Page anymore, thank _god_ , so he got paid more and he mostly just needed to sit and greet people, maybe give them a library card if it was their first time.

He eyed the storage closet longingly the moment he checked in, already planning his position in which to nap during his break. Yes, with a hangover, even four hours could feel like forever. Still, he needed money for their apartment, so he couldn’t complain. At least he _had_ a job.

So he sat there for almost an hour, answering the phone occasionally and listening to music on his phone. He purposely avoided listening to any _VIKTOR_ tracks, too nervous for his meeting with him tomorrow to keep his mind on the subject.

Unfortunately for him, his mind was not very kind to him and did not respect any of his wishes. What was he even supposed to _do_ at a meeting with him? What was it even a _meeting_? Would he be standing in front of a round desk full of people yelling about his interest in Yuuri? Would he chuck an assistant out of a window because he said the wrong thing, like in a meme? Was he a diva? Did he have a hit Christmas single and wear sunglasses, claiming ‘ _I don’t know her_ ’? What kind of person was _Viktor Nikiforov_?

He was surprised, suddenly, that in all of his years of living he had never thought to ask himself these questions. He had always put the man up on a pedestal, unreachable, never thinking that he might be presented with the opportunity to actually meet him in person. Now that he is, he’s both deathly afraid and buzzing with excitement.

He thought back to the bar last night. He assumed, from the few memories that returned to him, that the last person he gave his phone number to had been Viktor; Chris _had_ suggested that he would have died had he seen the man. Why had he been at that bar? When did he even enter the establishment? He would’ve have known immediately, of course; fans would have screamed and made a huge scandal, so he must have entered with some sort of disguise. Even then, what kind of disguise would hide the greatness of Viktor Nikiforov? A half-mask? Sunglasses? His silver-blonde hair and striking blue eyes would have made anyone melt on the spot, never mind _recognize_ him.

And oh, yes, those _eyes_. He had been fantasizing about those eyes since he was a boy, before he even knew the substance behind the word _love_ , he had already felt it. He knew that it was just a childhood obsession, holding him as an idol, but now that he was so close, things could change so quickly. He wished they did, secretly, even though he knew they most likely wouldn’t. Viktor was mature, graceful, classy, private. Yuuri was clumsy, anxious, and lacking any and all self-esteem. He wasn’t _worthy_ of a relationship with Viktor, so his hopes were dashed quickly enough.

Still, a boy could dream, couldn’t he?

And he _had_ been dreaming, dozing off with his chin in his hand while a patron suddenly entered. He had a cotton half-mask covering his mouth, sunglasses, and a leopard-print hood pulled over his head. He looked no older than fifteen, _sixteen_ at the most, and was just a few inches short of Yuuri’s own height. His blonde hair was long and reached halfway down his neck, which was unusual for teens his age, and was pulled into a ponytail, high on his head.

He looked around for a moment, taking off his sunglasses and lowering his mask.

It took Yuuri a total of three seconds to recognize him, and in those three seconds, the kid stomped over to the front desk, slammed his hand on the counter, and immediately began to yell at him in Russian. Yes, Yuuri now knew who he was. How could he not? Phichit might be his biggest fan, always playing his remixes and his original music.

Yes, as the Russian boy’s voice boomed inside of the library with its thick accent, Yuuri recognized him to be Yuri Plisetsky, or _Tigris_ , the second Russian ‘boy wonder’, a prodigy in music. He was also managed by Yakov Feltsman, Viktor’s manager, and was signed under the same record label, even though his genre was decidedly different and he had a very different image. He was all cut glass and light shows, mesmerizing compositions that left you on edge but relaxed at the same time; he figured they were like jumping off of a cliff into the ocean, skydiving, maybe fighting a life bear. He was intimidating for his size, even in his music.

Needless to say, Yuuri was trembling where he stood as this aggressive teenager yelled at him. “…And we don’t need another ‘Yuri’ under the same record label, especially not one who got discovered by _chance_ instead of _working_ for it. Go suck the dicks from all of your Viktor figurines, instead.”

 _Ouch_. _That one_ hurt more than he cared to admit, because he actually _did_ have a figurine of the man. “What?” was all he managed to stutter blush high on his cheeks. “What are you even _talking_ about?”

Yuri glared at him, voice almost hoarse from yelling. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Thousands of people send demos and shit to our label, and almost all of them are better than you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Viktor was only interested in you for a quick fuck.”

Yes, now his face was entirely red, and he felt the burn from his neck down to his chest. What was his _problem_? What did he ever do to _him_? “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, which was a _much_ more pathetic-sounding phrase, and he cringed inwardly at his own helpless tone.

“Because you’re all that dumbass is talking about right now and I just don’t get it. What, did you suck his dick while serenading him or something? Your friend is good, but you’re not special. There’s thousands of you out there. I just don’t understand why he’d even consider—…” he paused, and Yuuri blinked. “Nevermind. It’s never gonna happen. I mean, just _look_ at you.”

The boy scoffed and turned on his heel. “Moron.” He hissed, and with that, he put his sunglasses and his mask back on, put up his hood, jammed his fists into his jacket pockets, and stomped away.

As soon as the front doors of the library closed, he slouched back into his seat and stared hard at the grey-blue carpet. He was just _screamed at_ by wildly-popular _Tigris_ , whose hit ‘ _Beauty_ ’ was ranked #58 in the US’s Top 100, and was also idolized by Phichit. _I should have taken a video of him yelling at me. Phichit would have gone nuts._ He laughed at himself, a nervous laugh, a pity laugh. _He called him ‘good’. He’s gonna scream when I tell him_.

The kid was right; Yuuri _wasn’t_ good enough for a shot at their record label. It didn’t matter how many tears he cried and how many times he lost his voice for this dream; he didn’t have the _polish_ for it, didn’t have the _mindset_. He was insecure at every question; with the lowest self-esteem anyone could have. His confidence was so low it was almost laughable, so how could he survive a concert, talk shows, award shows? Yuri was right. He wasn’t cut out for the music industry, especially since it was known to eat people alive.

Suddenly, tomorrow’s meeting didn’t make him so excited.

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri? Have you seen my— _YUURI!_ ”

The man in question was curled in a ball beneath his covers, hair unkempt and in only his pajamas. Phichit was the one yelling, dressed in his best jeans, favorite jacket, and lucky t-shirt.

“I can’t believe you’re not even dressed! We’re leaving in half an hour and you _know_ how traffic is!” Phichit scolded. “Get _up_!” He ripped off Yuuri’s covers and pulled him out of bed by his left ankle, making him tumble to the ground in a fit of screeches.

“I don’t wanna go!” Yuuri cried, covering his head with his pillow, face pressed to the wooden floor.

“At least get _dressed_ before you complain!” his best friend spat. “Now is not the time to act like a child! This is our _future_ , and we’re not in a position to reject something, anything, presented to us.”

Yuuri felt guilt blossom in his chest. He had selfishly forgotten that this wasn’t just about him, I was about Phichit, too. He sat up quickly. “Sorry.” He murmured, looking down in guilt.

“I’ll forgive you if you get ready in less than five minutes, now _up!_ ” He clapped twice and sped off towards his things, already nicely waiting by the entrance to their apartment.

Yuuri put on jeans and his favorite striped shirt, shrugging on his usual blue hoodie and tugging on his sneakers. He didn’t want to overdress and look desperate, but he also didn’t want to show up in sweatpants; as a college student, his options were kind of limited, anyway. He tucked his phone into his back pocket, grabbed his headphones just in case, and followed Phichit through the door quickly. _Teeth? Brushed. Hair? Combed. Dick? Out._

He looked down quickly. _Nevermind_.

“We’ll be meeting him at the… _Westin Book Cadillac_.” Phichit said, scrolling through what seemed to be a short conversation with the man. “It’s on Washington. I know where it is.”

Yuuri felt just a pang of jealousy at the fact that Phichit had talked with Viktor when he had not, but it was very minimal, since he knew it was for business reasons and it was his best friend. Speaking of, he had yet to tell him that he’d been yelled at by _Tigris_ the day before. _He’s gonna flip when I tell him he visited me at work._

_Wait._

_How did he know where I worked?_

After they got into Phichit’s rusty old pickup that he had bought the year before, they immediately drove off through the endless traffic that Detroit had to offer. Yuuri was silent the whole time until they arrived, much too nervous to speak.

The hotel was huge. Amazingly huge. Of _course_ Viktor was staying there, all beautiful architecture and grand entrances. The floor was marbled tile and it had the most amazing grand staircase to descent through when you entered. The front desk had wooden panels and a marble wall directly behind the lady at the phone, who had a white carnation in her hair and red lipstick. Well, _all_ female attendants had a white carnation and red lipstick. Male attendants had white carnations tucked in their lapels, and they were all gorgeous. The men, he meant.

While Phichit went to ask the lady about Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri looked around, feeling very out of place. Yuri Plisetsky’s words rang in his ears again, taunting him about how he wasn’t worth Viktor’s attention. The only reason he even came was because of Phichit, now, not because he actually believed he had any chance of being at the same level as Viktor. He wanted to get this meeting over with so that he could go home and bawl over his lost chances, just like with the rejection letter from Juilliard.

Suddenly, he felt a presence standing behind him, and a deep, melodic voice sang in his ears. “Yuuri?”

He must have jumped about 18 feet in the air, or close to that. He felt shivers run down his spine and saw his life flash before his eyes. Yes, this was it. This was how he died.

He turned, and was met immediately with the striking blue eyes of his idol, the man of his dreams (some clean, some not), the one and only _Viktor Nikiforov_ , live and in the flesh. He took in air sharply. He smelled like he did in every fantasy he’s had, but he looked even better. He was dressed casually, dark jeans, red coat over a white hoodie and a grey shirt, but class and charisma was radiating off of him in waves. He felt embarrassingly virginal in front of him, like his icy gaze could pierce through his soul and devour it, consume it, and Yuuri would let him, open himself at his mercy.

He blinked, took in the sight of him again, and felt music flow through his veins. This is what he was living for.

“Viktor! So nice to see you again.” Phichit greeted, coming up behind Yuuri and grounding him, finally, thankfully. His gaze was immediately fallen to the floor, glued to his shoes, suddenly so ugly in contrast to the beautiful marble floor. Yes, he definitely didn’t belong here. He didn’t want to face Viktor, didn’t want to disappoint him, and he hadn’t even done anything yet; he could already feel how fragile the glass wall he had managed to build was.

“Likewise! This is much more pleasant than an overcrowded bar. Wouldn’t you say, Yuuri?” Viktor chimed, and there was a teasing note to his musical voice.

Yuuri forced himself to meet his gaze, remembering his manners. “Yes.” He replied softly. This time, his gaze wasn’t so intense. It was… gentle? Kind. It was patient, and Yuuri was grateful. He relaxed a little.

“Let’s sit, shall we?” the Russian man offered, and he led them over to a very nice, private sitting area. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited my coworker, Yuri, to the meeting. He was very interested in meeting the both of you.”

Yuuri flushed a very, very bright red. The Russian punk’s yelling was the last thing he needed right now, but he could feel Phichit’s excitement. “Yuri Plisetsky? _Tigris_?”

Viktor nodded with a smile, and _oh_ , that smile was so beautiful. It was different than the one in magazines or on TV. This smile was brighter, gentle, unguarded. Yuuri loved it on sight. It was relaxing, like a fireplace, a candle, a sunset. When their eyes met, briefly, he got the feeling it was intentional. “In the meanwhile,” Viktor continued, “I’d just like to ask you a question Yuuri.”

The man in question froze. Could he answer a question? Does he have the capacity? He thinks he does. He’s not sure anymore. “Y-Yes?”

“Why _Stay Close To Me_?” Viktor asked, and he leaned back in his chair. That… wasn’t what Yuuri was expecting.

He thought for a moment, trying to find calmness in the comfortable silence that stretched between them. He already had the answer. He had it since he first heard it; he knew exactly why he loved it, the answer obvious every time he listened to any other song by any other artist. “Because it’s _you_ ,” he answered, and even if it felt intimate to say, it also felt right. “in every way. I’ve always thought it was honest, and true, and beautiful. Always beautiful.” There were also more reasons: because it was a love song, and each time he heard it, he felt like Viktor was singing to him. Because his voice was the most original it had ever been, before trends in music and mainstream influence, however slight. Because it was when he first truly fell in love with his music.

Viktor was grinning, eyes shining and bright, glimmering brighter than the crystal chandeliers around them. “Wow,” he said. “that’s… the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my music. How honest.”

Yuuri blushed again, skin burning with embarrassment. “Sorry, I… sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. When I heard you sing, I—” he interrupted himself as he spotted someone just behind Phichit. “Yuri! Sit, sit, and say hello to Phichit Chulanont and Yuuri Katsuki!”

Even saying his _name_ sounded beautiful to him.

The Russian Yuri waved at the both of them, moving to stand beside Viktor. “Nice to meet you.” He told Phichit, and when he turned to Yuuri, he only glared.

“We’ve met before.” Yuuri murmured, and the other Yuri jumped. _Seems he didn’t want me to mention it. Oh well. Too late now, might as well get revenge._ “He visited me at work and yelled at me.”

“Yuri! How rude of you.” Viktor scolded, but there was a playful edge to his voice, like he was teasing. Phichit, in the meanwhile, was staring at his best friend incredulously.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he asked, eyes wide. “How dare you! And you call yourself my best friend.”

Yuuri laughed, feeling the vast majority of the tension leave his body. Yes, this felt much better. “Though, I wonder… how did you find out where I worked, Yuri?”

“Huh?” he asked, slouching down on the seat beside Viktor. “Oh, Viktor told me. He was stalking you on Facebook, so—”

“Yuri!” Viktor exclaimed, blush high on his cheeks. “That doesn’t mean you have to _mention_ it!”

“It’s getting confusing with two ‘Yuri’s.” Phichit piped. “Maybe we should refer to you as _Yurio_?”

The Russian Yurio flushed bright red in teenaged anger. “That’s not my name!” he exclaimed.

“Ah, why so angry, Yurio?” Viktor teased, and the boy beside him was practically _vibrating_ with rage.

“That’s not my _name_!” he almost yelled, and Viktor laughed, a beautiful, perfect sound. Like his music, like his voice, like his entire self. Yes, this man was perfect in every way, and Yuuri suddenly felt very small compared to him.

When the laughter died down, Viktor suddenly turned to him and his best friend with a focused, business-like stare. “Well, let’s get down to the actual reason why we’re here. Phichit, Yuuri, our record label’s A&R department is interested in the both of you. They’ve heard some of your music on Spotify already, Phichit, and they like what they hear. Yuuri, on the other hand,” and his smile changed, suddenly, into something cold. “has no material online whatsoever. I couldn’t find _anything_ on you!”

Yuuri flushed red, looking down in shame. “I didn’t think… I’d…”

Viktor shook his head. “Yuuri, look at me.” he said, and he did, almost magnetically. “If you want to have any chance in this industry, you’re going to need to put yourself out there. You’re going to need to do more than just sing covers at bars.”

He felt like a child again, getting scolded by his mother or father. It was enough to make him never want to go to another bar again. “Sorry.” He murmured, looking down in shame.

“Don’t apologize. I’m grateful you did. Your voice is mesmerizing, absolutely beautiful. I felt like I was listening to that song again for the first time, like it was something entirely new. You made that song _yours_ , Yuuri, so practiced and dedicated, and the best part was? I was willing to give it to you.” Viktor gushed, and that gentle smile was back. “You have the potential to go so, so far. It’d be a waste to let you fade into the background because you didn’t have the exposure.”

“What are you saying?” Yuuri asked, and he was on the edge of his seat. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? _No way_.

“I want to help you get as much exposure as possible, I want to help you in your career. You’re amazing, Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor said, and Yuuri felt his heart beat at a million miles a minute. This had only happened in his wildest dreams, when he was singing with his idol on stage, when the dream ended with blinding lights and a golden ring. “You deserve to be heard.”

“Viktor…” Yurio began, narrowing his eyes at the older man. “You’re not serious about this, are you?”

Viktor nodded, eyes glittering under the lights. “I’m going to ask Yakov for some time off after this charity concert.”

“What!? _Why_!? Your fans are desperate for your next album as it is, haven’t you heard them screaming? Seen the comments on your videos? They’re going to _kill_ someone!” he exclaimed. “And I’m the easiest target!”

Viktor laughed again, and Yuuri could get drunk off the sound if he wasn’t already dizzy from how fast things were moving. Was Viktor going to help Yuuri with his career? What did he mean by exposure, exactly? What did he plan on _doing_? “It’ll be _fine_!” he said.

“After this we’re going to Los Angeles, Viktor, if you want to stay then you’re on your own—”

“We have an apartment close by!” Phichit exclaimed, and Yuuri paused, looking between the people around him. “You can stay with us in the meanwhile!”

“Huh!?” Yuuri exclaimed, face a blazing red.

“Wonderful! Then it’s settled.” Viktor grinned, and when he turned to Yuuri, the Japanese man felt his blush travel all the way down his body. “From now on, I’ll be your manager— just until we get you where we want you to be. I want everyone to hear how beautiful your voice is and love it as much as I do. Deal?” He extended a hand, long and graceful, as he always is, and Yuuri took it without hesitation.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but be warned: this story doesn't parallel the show exactly, so don't expect yurio and yuuri to compete against each other in so Main Competition. it's the music industry. isn't the competition in surviving?


	3. Life and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can teach me life, teach me love, teach me how to become new again. Take me higher on your wings."
> 
> Yuuri tries to get used to Viktor, then has a revelation upon attending his concert. The world loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me a while to write this because i was stuck, so consider this a filler chapter, maybe? probably not.
> 
> anyway, whoomp, here it is.
> 
> (not beta'd. :/ )

Yuuri had never once seen his apartment as small until he entered it that fateful night. The windows opened it up well, the furniture was arranged nicely, Phichit’s bed was beside Yuuri’s and hidden from sight of the living room. He had done a good job of helping his best friend decorate, he thinks, and the topic of _size_ in their apartment never came up. It was fine. They didn’t need more and it didn’t feel clustered, so the both of them never complained.

When Viktor stepped into the threshold, _everything_ suddenly felt too small in comparison; but the Russian man was polite and well-mannered, and any negative thoughts were kept to himself, he figured. In fact, he remarked that their home was “lovely” and “had a very nice energy flow”, as social cues would force one to do. Yuuri was self-conscious about everything. He was self-conscious about his duvet, about his pillows, about his figurines—

_OH GOD._

He rushed to the small space that had his bed and his desk. He pulled the screen that separated their sleeping area from the living area to cover his actions, and frantically, he ripped posters from the bare, brick wall. He gathered them up, along with his figurines and photobooks of Viktor’s career, and shoved them all underneath his bed in record time.

“Yuuri?” Viktor called as he gently moved away the screen. His eyes were filled with amusement as the other looked up shyly. “Something you don’t want me to see?”

“No no no! Everything’s fine! Peachy! Perfect!” he replied, laughing nervously.

Viktor looked around at Yuuri’s ‘room’, face alight with curiosity. “So you like blue, huh?” he asked, and he entered slowly, almost cautiously. _Do I look that frantic and fragile to him?_ Yuuri thought. _Well, I doubt my behavior’s implied any differently._

“Yes… I suppose I do.” Yuuri answered. He had only noticed how all of his furniture and decorations had some sort of shade of blue to them, or a blue accent, or were just drenched in the color. He had never noticed before. Hell, even his hoodie was blue. “I didn’t notice.”

“Cute.” Viktor remarked, and Yuuri froze. He was looking at his photographs on his bookshelf; photos of his family, of his friends, photobooth strips of him and Phichit. He had a couple of succulents planted there, and a trinket box, but not much else other than books. “You have a dog?”

Yuuri fingered the edges of his hoodie. “I did. He, um, he died a couple of months back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Viktor answered, and when Yuuri looked up, he was staring right at him with the softest gaze. “He looks just like my poodle, Makkachin. What was his name?”

Yuuri blushed and looked away quickly. _I have to lie. I have to! He can’t know I named my_ dog _after him, that’s just—_ “His name was Vicchan.” Phichit chimed in from behind the screen. His face suddenly appeared right beside Yuuri’s, scaring him half to death. “Cute name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Viktor laughed. “It is.”

“Um, anyway!” Yuuri interrupted. “I know it’s small and there’s not much space, but I think we can make do until, um, you find a place to stay. We can help you find somewhere nearby, if you’re interested, or near downtown, or—”

“You know what I heard?” Phichit chimed, eyes gleaming with mischief. “A little birdie told me that the apartment right next door just opened up, and the rent’s not too bad. There’s also an Ikea nearby, if you’re interested. Surely you wouldn’t want to sleep on the floor for such a long while, would you?”

Yuuri froze. This wasn’t happening. Viktor wasn’t going to move in next door, was he? He was only going to stay for a couple of weeks, maybe a month at the most. Detroit wasn’t the nicest city to live in, surely, and Viktor was used to much nicer accommodations! There was no way he was going to—

“Really?” he exclaimed, and his entire face lit up. “That’d be wonderful! Who do I call?”

 _OH GOD_. Yuuri was screaming in his head. _JESUS TAPDANCING TITTY H. CHRIST_.

Phichit just grinned and disappeared with Viktor following suit. He heard the sound of their front door close, and he realized that he was left in their apartment, alone.

The silence, the stillness, all of it hit him like a truck. He sat down at the edge of his bed, trying to register everything that had just happened. He had work in three hours, it was almost lunch time, and Viktor Nikiforov was staying in his apartment until he found a place to stay.

He felt like a child, suddenly. Clueless, lost, confused; he felt like everything around him was moving much too quickly, and he was just looking around without a clue as to what was going on. There was something else, though— he was happy. He was excited, he was _ecstatic_. _Viktor Nikiforov_ was staying in his apartment! He was going to be close enough to touch, he was going to be able to see him in the mornings and afternoons and at night and— oh god.

Oh god, what was he going to _do_? No, what was _Viktor_ going to do in the meanwhile? Would he walk in one day to a party, or him posing for a nude portrait, or thirteen dogs in the apartment? What was Viktor _like_?

He stopped himself before he started hyperventilating; if he thought too much about the man, his proximity, his behavior, any of his traits, he’d probably start crying. He was grateful, and worried, and anxious, and so many different emotions all at the same time. _He’s kind. He’s impulsive. He’s considerate. He’s gentle. He’s… excitable._

Yes, he could manage that. He just needed to grow comfortable with him, that’s all. Everything will be fine.

He looked over at the photo of himself and Vicchan, years ago.

 _Everything will be fine_.

~

When Phichit and Viktor came back from meeting with the landlord, both of them had big smiles on their faces, and Yuuri had already set the table for lunch.

“Oh, shoot, it was my turn to cook!” Phichit exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Yuuri!”

“It’s fine!” he answered, and he smiled at them both. “I wanted to make _katsudon_ to celebrate, anyway.”

“Katsudon?” _Oh, right, Viktor doesn’t know what that is._

“Pork cutlet bowls. They’re my favorite food, and before I left, my mom taught me how to make them.” Yuuri answered. “I usually only eat them when I do well on a test or something of the sort, but I haven’t made them in a while. Not since I graduated a little while ago, anyway.”

Viktor looked at him with an unreadable gaze, and it almost made him nervous. Almost. “You’re from Japan, right? You haven’t gone back to visit your family for the summer?”

He blinked at the taller man and shook his head. “I haven’t gone back since I came here. I was supposed to apply to music schools so I could keep studying music after I graduated, but…” he sighed and turned back to the stove where the food was being prepared. “…I only applied to Juilliard because I was so busy with work and school, and sure enough, I got rejected.”

“Did they tell you why?” Viktor asked. He was leaning over the kitchen counter in interest, chin on his open palm.

“No, but I knew why the moment I walked out of the audition room.” He answered. “I was so focused on performing well that I didn’t follow my own style, like I should have. I wasn’t being honest because I didn’t have the confidence for it, so they didn’t choose me.”

When Yuuri turned back to Viktor, there was a smile on his face, and his gaze was sweet, encouraging. “I suppose I should thank them, then,” he said, and he turned away to sit at the small, round dining table. “because now I’ve found you, and it won’t be long now until they regret their decision.”

Yuuri blushed a bright red, something he couldn’t seem to stop doing around the man. How was he supposed to answer to that? He had never been seen as someone unique, someone to be held above, not like Viktor was suggesting. He knew he’d never reach _Adele_ status, or _Beyonce_ status, or even _Rascal Flatts_ status, whoever the hell he was. “Oh, I’m not sure about _that_.” He murmured, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Viktor. He knew he could be more comfortable around him now, which was good, but there were still lines he couldn’t cross, and his behavior now was no help in finding out where those lines were. He knew, immediately, that he was patient and gentle and would not push Yuuri if Yuuri did not want to move, but did he know what being a manager entailed? Did he know that Yuuri had very little confidence and a very small comfort zone? Was he prepared for _that_? What did Viktor _want_ from Yuuri?

He placed a bowl in front of Phichit and another in front of Viktor. No sense in asking _himself_ those questions when Viktor was right in front of him, but it was lunch time, so he’d have to reserve his doubts for later. When Yuuri sat down, Viktor took a small bite.

As soon as he did, his eyes went wide, his pupils blown and wearing the biggest grin Yuuri had ever seen from him. “ _Vkusno_!” he exclaimed, and he immediately began to scarf down the food with vigor, like he was a starved man and had been presented with food after eternity.

“That makes two of you, huh?” Phichit teased, but otherwise they continued eating in silence, as they usually did. It was comfortable, it was something Yuuri could get used to.

As soon as Viktor finished, his demeanor immediately changed into something formal, practiced, almost business like. He took out a slip of paper from his coat pocket and laid it flat against the surface of the table, showing a web of hastily drawn circles interconnected. “The first thing we need to do, above everything, is find a recording studio. Then we have to record some covers of songs that you like to find which style will suit your voice the most. After we’ve really gotten your style settled, we’ll make a demo for my record label from those songs, and once you’ve been signed, we’ll need an EP. The rest will go on from there.”

Yuuri stared down at the paper, lost in thought. _Phichit will handle the sound editing, but won’t I need musicians helping? If it’s a cover, it’ll need to be pre-recorded, but shouldn’t a demo have at least one original composition?_ “Won’t I need an original song, though?”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, you will, but we won’t worry about that right now.” He answered. “For now, we need to focus on your voice to get it to a broader range, your confidence to actually make it shine, and the song choice to give it the best opportunity to enthrall an audience. A country artist’s style isn’t suited for opera, obviously.”

Phichit smiled at Yuuri. “Don’t you already have some original stuff written, though?”

Yuuri shook his head frantically. “No, no, no… I-I wrote those when I was, what, fourteen? They’re horrible. I left them back in Japan, anyway.”

“Songwriters can be hired for that, but you’ll have a better connection to your music if you write it yourself. It’ll feel like you’re actually expressing yourself if you write your own music.” Viktor explained. “As of lately, I haven’t written my own songs.”

Yuuri paused, staring at Viktor. “Really?”

The older man nodded, placing his chin on the palm of his hand. “I wasn’t inspired anymore. I wasn’t surprising anyone, and you know that’s what I love to do.” He winked, but continued on. “I almost didn’t want to finish this next album, and then you came along, and it was such a refreshing change that inspiration came to me almost immediately. I already have a draft written.”

Phichit chuckled. “Yuuri has always had an amazing voice. I tried to get him to start a Youtube channel, but he never really posted anything. His Instagram has, like, twelve followers.”

Viktor’s eyes widened, and he smirked, and Yuuri immediately realized he had gotten an idea. “Could you give me his Instagram handle? I’d like to follow him.”

Yuuri froze. _What was he planning to do?_

Phichit wrote it down on the paper Viktor had been using, and Viktor fiddled with his phone for a second. Then, he very quickly placed it face-down on the table, and smiled at Yuuri wide, like he was happy, like he was amused, like he was up to something.

Then, Yuuri and Phichit’s phones exploded with notifications.

“Congratulations, Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed as Yuuri unlocked his phone with shaking hands, vibrations almost killing his iPhone.

He was gaining a new follower by the second, and he had no idea why until he saw the video Viktor uploaded. It was him, singing on stage, voice booming over the speakers of the bar as Viktor whistled. “ _Coming soon: Yuuri Katsuki_ ” was the caption, and no wonder all of his fans went fucking _crazy_. “You’re internet famous!”

Phichit’s phone wasn’t finished, either, since he had been tagged in the video, too. As it was, though, Phichit already had 16K followers, but this was going to break the counter for sure. “Now everyone’s going to want to hear more from you. Isn’t that great?” Viktor chimed.

“Yeah,” Yuuri answered weakly, voice wavering. “Absolutely.”

~

That afternoon, Viktor had to leave for rehearsals for the concert, leaving Phichit and Yuuri to explore recording studios by themselves.

They found one that had a reputation amongst the local artists, called United Sound Systems, and after meeting with a couple of people, decided to book a session there and tell Viktor later. Already, an assistant at the studio named Kenjirou, Minami recognized him from the video that had quickly gone viral that afternoon. It still made Yuuri sick to think about it.

“Your voice is just so beautiful!” he exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement. “I’m so excited to hear more! I mean, I’ve been a fan of Viktor for a while, but I can’t get that song out of my head now! Don’t tell him I said this, but you made it just _so_ much better!”

Yuuri laughed and scratched the back of his head. “Thank you.” Was all he could think to say, before Phichit got the hint about Yuuri’s discomfort and dragged him away with a polite “We’ve got to go, but thanks again!”

On their way out, Phichit passed a poster of a violinist that had once recorded there, supposedly. Yuuri stopped to look back at his best friend, whose eyes were gleaming underneath the bright spotlight aimed at the portrait of the man. _SEUNG-GIL LEE_ was written in silver, cursive letters, and a black and white photo of the Korean man in a perfectly tailored suit was the background. “One day, Yuuri,” Phichit began, and his voice was sobered, soft. “we’re going to get him to record for one of your songs.”

Yuuri smiled at him patiently. “Maybe one day.”

The two stared at the poster for a long time until Phichit sighed and broke away. “Let’s go get ready for Viktor’s concert.”

Yes, Viktor gave them tickets and all-access passes for the two roommates, since they were now going to play a part in Viktor’s career and actually become a part of his life. It was all still so surreal to Yuuri, but he wasn’t complaining, not since he’s never been to one of Viktor’s concerts and sat in the front row before.

He was dressed well; it was a charity concert, after all, and it would be filled with hundreds upon hundreds of people. Since he and Phichit were sitting in a private section, they could afford to dress nicely since it wasn’t like they were going to get torn apart, unlike any other music festival or event they had gone to. They were going to hang out with Viktor backstage and actually experience everything first hand. Yuuri had never been to a concert like this, so when the driver that Viktor had sent for them arrived, his hands were shaking.

“I don’t know why you’re nervous, Yuuri,” Phichit chided, nudging him with his knee. “he lives with us now; I think you’ve passed ‘Meet & Greet’ nerves a long time ago.”

Yuuri sighed. “I know, I’m just… not extremely comfortable with him yet. Besides, I’ve never been to one of his concerts, so seeing him in a professional setting is... I don’t know. I still feel like a kid again, seeing him on TV for the first time.”

“You just need to get comfortable with him.” Phichit explained, resting his elbow on the car door. “Trust me, he’s serious about this.”

“We don’t even properly know him, Phichit.” Yuuri replied, but he had a feeling his best friend was right. For some reason, he always was.

Phichit didn’t say anything back, though, so the conversation ended until they arrived at their destination.

The venue was packed, as Yuuri thought it would be, but they had no trouble getting to their seats. Their section was private and closed off, higher above the public and heavily guarded by security in case some rabid fan decided to attack whoever was attending.

It was a charity concert, so it was star-studded. The people sitting around Yuuri and Phichit were well-known in the industry, sponsors and donators to the cause that Viktor was performing for. A lot of them Yuuri didn’t recognize as performers; he figured they weren’t as well known, but wealthy nonetheless.

Preparations were going to take a little longer, so Phichit and Yuuri entertained themselves by trying to guess who the people around them were. “… and that’s the inspiration for Mr. Clean, you know, the soap guy? And then there’s the girl who played Carly in iCarly…”

Suddenly, the house lights dimmed and people started screaming as Viktor appeared on stage.

It was like Yuuri was seeing him for the very first time. He was regal on stage, dressed in a well-tailored, deep purple suit. His hair was arranged as it usually was, with his bangs over one eye, and he had a wide smile on as he stepped on stage. He wasn’t much for a dramatic, intense entrance, anyway. There were hands reaching up to touch his greatness, and he waved to a couple of people before he introduced himself.

“So,” he began. “how are you all?” Laughter erupted throughout the audience, but Yuuri figured they were laughing from adoration and not actually humor. _He’s unusually playful. I’ve never seen him act like this on TV or elsewhere._ “Good, I’m glad you’re all well. Anyway, I’m here to open for the whole event, thank you so much for inviting me. All funds will be donated to the American Childhood Cancer Foundation to help in preventative research for cancer, as you all know when you purchased your ticket. The leaders of the foundation would like to thank you all sincerely for donating and have put together this event as a result.”

Loud cheering was his answer, and it seemed the audience was more than excited for his performance. The fact that he was only the opener gave Yuuri an idea as to how much fun the concert would be. “Now, before I begin— yes, yes, and I _will_ begin— I’d like to thank two very important guests for attending, Yuuri Katsuki and Phichit Chulanont!” The crowd went wild as the spotlight was turned on the two, blinding them. Phichit pulled him forward until they were both standing and they waved at the crowd.

This was the first time Yuuri had been cheered on by a crowd, ever; he had never participated in an event of this caliber. It was electric, all of the attention on him, but the fact that Viktor had been the one to honor him really sent sparks running through his veins. “ _Collaboration to be announced._ ” Viktor slyly whispered into the microphone. “Now, let’s get on with the concert!”

 _Collaboration?_ Yuuri mouthed to Phichit over the noise, and his best friend just shrugged. Yuuri didn’t miss the knowing smile on his face, thought.

Soon, the drums started off on their intro, and Viktor’s beautiful voice belted out from the speakers. But this— this song has never been heard before, not by Yuuri or anyone, and he could feel the confusion from the crowd. What was he singing?

It was upbeat, but beautiful, always beautiful. It wasn’t slow, or at least to the tempo of his other songs, it was _powerful_ , the drums driving your blood to tension. And his voice— his voice was _charged_ with electricity, with emotion, and the audience was drinking it up despite the confusion. It was a love song, or a song about admiration, or devotion, or hope; he wasn’t sure. The lyrics were almost cryptic since Yuuri could barely hear much of what he was saying. It was lovely, inspiring, it left him on the edge of his seat because this was a Viktor he had never heard before, this was a Viktor Yuuri had only seen in glimpses in his music, when there was a voice crack in a recording or in few parts of _Stay Close to Me_.

Viktor was expressing himself in the most honest, beautiful way Yuuri had ever seen, and he finally understood.

The song was short, and as soon as he finished it, he paused once more to speak. “Caught you off-guard, huh? That was a new one, and it’s called _Life and Love_ ,” Viktor announced, “which will most likely be featured in my next album and… truth be told, it was inspired by someone I’ve met very recently. Hopefully you’ll like him just as much as I do.” Then different music started up again over the conflicted, excited crowd, and he carried on like he _didn’t_ just destroy his fans’ lives.

“Can’t wait to see what the press will make up about _that_!” Phichit joked as he nudged Yuuri, but the boy was frozen.

His quiet life was now forever ruined by Viktor Nikiforov, and he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or terrified. He glanced down at the crowd. _Yeah, I’m terrified_.

After Viktor’s performance and the stage began changed to switch to _Fall Out Boy_ , Phichit and Yuuri immediately went to greet him backstage, as they were allowed to do thanks to the lanyard on their necks. “Viktor, that was so _cool_!” Phichit gushed. “Was that the song you had drafted earlier?”

The taller man smiled at the two, and he gave Yuuri a wink. “Yes, it was. I couldn’t help it, I suppose; knowing you were there in the audience, watching me, I figured it was only fitting.” He grabbed Yuuri’s chin and tilted it upwards, in front of Phichit, security, _everyone_. “Right, Yuuri?”

The man in question began to shake, and immediately separated himself. “Sure, yeah, of course, yep, that’s… right, sure, yeah.” He sputtered. Phichit laughed at his flustered best friend, clapping him on the back.

“Ah, that’s so cute.” He remarked, but their moment was suddenly interrupted by a two reporters, who seemed to be twins.

“Viktor! Can we have a really quick interview?” One of them asked, and by her nametag, Yuuri recognized her to be _Sara Crispino_ for _Cosmopolitan_. _Isn’t that the magazine with the terrible sex advice?_ Yuuri thought.

“Sure. Hit me.” Viktor answered, winking at her. His brother did not respond kindly, unfortunately, but he was quickly ignored.

“That song that you just performed— it was _amazing_! It was totally a different side of you that we, your fans, have never seen before! What inspired you to write and perform it tonight?”

Viktor smiled. “Well, it was inspired by someone I’ve met very recently, as I said. I heard him sing and it’s changed me like nothing before ever has. I’ve been missing inspiration, but he danced in and it’s like music’s flowing through my veins again.”

“What does this mean for your career?” Sara asked, and there was a blush high on her cheeks, like she never expected such an intimate answer from the singer. “Who is this person, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It means that I’ll be taking some time off of my album to become his manager and producer, at least until he finds a proper one. I want to see him soar through the ranks and collaborate with him properly one day.”

Yuuri flushed a bright red as he witnessed the interview firsthand. So his suspicions from earlier had been confirmed. _A collaboration? Producer? Time off? He was_ serious _?_

“As for who he is, he’s right here! I’m sure he’d agree to an interview, as well!” Viktor exclaimed, and he pulled Yuuri close to him, placing an arm around his shoulder.

Sara’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yes please! That’d be wonderful! Mickey, take a picture! Right now! Now!”

Michele, his nametag read, lifted his camera and took several pictures of Viktor and Yuuri, Phichit poking his head through the pair with a grin.

“ _Vitya!_ ” an angry voice exclaimed from behind them, and all five turned to see an angry Yakov Feltsman fuming behind them. “What’s this I heard about a _break_?”

Yurio was standing beside Yakov, dressed casually, but with a microphone attached to him and his blonde hair down to his neck. There was a cat mask on his head, moved to reveal his face. _Is he performing?_

Viktor only laughed at his manager and Yuuri just watched as people crowded around the charismatic man.

Yuuri had a feeling that he was going to have to get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cute. also i'm a phichit/s-g stan FOR LIFE.
> 
> they'll meet him, though perhaps i'll go in detail in another fic.
> 
> stay tuned.


	4. Sweetest Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wasn't ready then, I'm ready now, I'm heading straight for you."
> 
> Yuuri sings for Viktor, and Viktor is nothing less than impressed.  
> Maybe a little... too impressed.
> 
> not beta read :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many oneshots can come out of this lol
> 
> speaking of before this chapter i wrote a oneshot for this au called "satisfied" btw its great i rly liked it bc it's yurio's pov
> 
> idk if you've caught the drift yet but all chapter titles are song titles. irl or features in the fic haha
> 
> this is shorter than usual im sorry :/

Yuuri woke up covered in glitter.

This, Phichit had explained, was not unusual when it came to Viktor Nikiforov, and it was something he had to get used to when attending one of his concerts. Glitter was something Viktor’s fans were particularly fond of since he loved light effects and they really wanted to shine for him.

He didn’t understand it at all, because he was a normal person who did not like drinking and eating glitter for breakfast, but whatever.

Waking up covered in glitter was not the highlight of his morning, actually. When he opened his eyes, he immediately rolled over in his bed to check his alarm clock. Instead of bright red numbers, he was met with Viktor’s unusually pore-less face. His head rested on the tops of his intertwined hands, looking over the edge of the bed, most likely kneeling on the floor. Yuuri’s face went beet red and he jumped backwards, tumbling over the edge of the twin-size bed, grabbing everything he could think to grab on his way down.

“Good morning!” Viktor greeted as he caught a flying pillow from the whirlwind of sheets. “Hmm… you’re covered in glitter. My fans are very adamant about it, you know.”

Yuuri peeked over his own side, but only his eyes as he tried to make what he could of the unfortunately cheerful greeting. “I didn’t, actually, and good morning.”

“You mean you’ve never been to one of my concerts?” he exclaimed, and he looked genuinely surprised. “I’m shocked. I’m… _shocked_!”

“Not everyone has the funds or opportunities to go to one of your concerts.” Yuuri deadpanned.

“Oh, no, it’s not _that_!” Viktor laughed, and he winked at the boy across from him. “I figured since you have so much merchandise with my face on it.”

Yuuri was silent, stuttering as he stared at his idol in mortification. What was he supposed to say to that? _Lie, Yuuri, lie!!_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Viktor laughed, long and loud and beautiful. “I mean, you made me sleep on the floor beside your bed, where you hid all of your posters and figurines. A drawer would have done better; don’t you think?”

“Oh, _god_ …” Yuuri murmured, and he hid his head in his hands.

“Oh, it’s alright, Yuuri. Thanks to that, I’ve had a _very_ lovely morning and your lovely face was just the cherry on top. Quite literally, it’s completely red.” He teased, and he straightened from his spot on the wooden floor. “Anyway! Today we’ll be going to the recording studio, so get dressed. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll leave!”

He disappeared cheerfully, to which Yuuri was grateful. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive the few more days until Viktor’s apartment was ready for him, especially if all mornings were going to be like this.

He passed Viktor and Phichit on his way to the shower, the two bent over the shared desktop monitor (it wasn’t technically _shared_ , per se, since Yuuri had his own laptop, but they _did_ both pitch in for it), most likely reviewing tracks.

The water was warm when he entered, and it was welcome after the stress of the last few days. He was tired, even after having just woken up, and he blamed it on Viktor. He had been keeping a steady rhythm of calm and collection before he waltzed into his life, or before he got drunk and waltzed into _his_ , or… whatever. It didn’t matter. What _did_ matter was the fact that now he had entered a period of uncertainty and hard work, despite just finishing college, the _ultimate_ period of uncertainty and hard work.

 _And it was thanks to Viktor, all blue eyes and long legs and beautiful hair and… strong arms… and… beautiful lips…_ Yuuri froze. _No. No no_ no _. We are_ not _doing this now_. He immediately turned the tap to cold water and almost froze as he washed up, trying not to think any more about the man of his dreams in his living room. If he did, he’d take _much_ longer in the shower, and he didn’t think they had much more time.

When he did finish getting ready, hair dried and clothes on, Viktor and Phichit were already by the door.

Viktor was wearing a suit, but unlike the purple number he had donned the previous night, it was a dark grey with a matching tie. Phichit was wearing a button-down, a cardigan, and shorts, while Yuuri wore a long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and jeans. It was obvious who’d be the clear winner of a best-dressed contest, silver hair framing his face beautifully, as it always did.

Viktor was flawless in everything he did, from waking up in the morning to dressing himself, to closing their apartment door and driving them to the studio, to arriving somewhere with style and having people rush to his attention.

They booked a small room, just for Yuuri to record and for Phichit to get acquainted with. He was glad it didn’t have a window for Minami to peek through or for anyone else to laugh at him.

“So!” Viktor announced, clapping his hands together. “Phichit and I took the liberty of putting together a list of songs for you to record to best figure out your style. We’ve made sure they’re all songs you already know the lyrics to, but that, according to Phichit, suit your voice the best. I want you to pick out the songs that you like the most and that appeal to you more as a singer and music maker.”

“Um… okay.” Yuuri smoothly answered, and he shuffled his way into the small room with the mic. “So do I just…”

“Yeah, put the headphones on, and Phichit will start the music. You just… sing.” Viktor assured, and he sat down beside Phichit, smiling at Yuuri with encouragement.

When the music started, Yuuri felt shivers travel down his spine as piano notes rang out in clarity. _This is… Eyes Shut, by Years and Years?_ He hadn’t sung this in a while; not while he was cooking or cleaning anyway, or studying, or anything else. _When had he…?_

And he sung anyway, replacing the main singer’s soft, faint style with his own, trying to channel the emotions within the music as best he could, even if he couldn’t relate to the feeling. The music itself was beautiful, simple but elegant, and emotional, telling a tale of individuality and independence, of moving on despite the obstacles. He was surprised— this _did_ suit his voice better than other songs. _Phichit is amazing!_

When he turned back to the pair, Phichit was grinning from ear to ear, and Viktor had his chin in the palm of his hand, gazing at Yuuri with… _admiration? Intrigue?  What?_ “Yuuri, that was gorgeous!” Phichit exclaimed. “Amazing, beautiful, stunning, I’m on the edge of my seat, I’m—”

“Play the next one.” Viktor interrupted, his eyes never breaking contact with Yuuri. “Listen closely. I want to see his range and versatility. Not all of the songs we picked are in the same genre, but they do have something in common. See if you can figure it out, Yuuri.”

“Well, can’t you just tell me what type of song suits me best?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Viktor laughed. “It’s not that easy. It’s more niche than you think, actually. You have a very specific place you belong to, let’s say, and luckily for us it’s proving to be more wide than I first thought. You do have a very beautiful voice, after all, and beautiful voices don’t belong to just one genre. Play the next track, Phichit.”

Their voices on the speakers cut out, and Yuuri quickly put his headphones on again. _What does he mean by that? I thought I could settle in Alternative well._ The next track that played began with a violin solo, absolutely beautiful, that he immediately recognized. _Neptune, by Sleeping at Last. I used to love this song to study. But what does it have in common with Eyes Shut?_ He waited almost the entire song before he began to sing, voice mellowed by the tune and imagery of the song. He understood this one again, but he couldn’t relate to it very well, either; a man abandoned by a god and trying to worship him, or “love” him, despite his struggles and evident negligence.

When he turned back to face the pair again, Viktor was looking to him with an expectant smile, and Phichit was again staring in wonder. “Does it have to do with the meaning? I’m not very religious.”

Viktor chuckled, wiping down his face with his hand. _Right, he doesn’t have to worry about acne like normal people. I forgot he could do things like that._ “No, it doesn’t have to do with meaning, necessarily, but… Phichit, play number eight, see if that’ll help him figure it out. You have to properly _feel_ the music to find your niche and know what you can sing, Yuuri!”

The man in question sighed, slouching down in his seat on the bench. “Fine, fine.”

The next song surprised him. He had been listening to it nonstop since her album came out; her booming voice was nothing to be ignored, _ever_ , be he hadn’t thought it’d be on the list. _Sweetest Devotion_ by _Adele_ poured in from the headphones, and Yuuri felt his heartbeat quicken as he snuck a glance at Viktor, whose eyes were glued on him the whole time. Yes, he felt this song in his _core_. And he could sing this song, he could; he’s practiced it enough to get her stratospheric range down and add his own style. He’s taken tons of classes, after all. This was different; in this studio, in front of Viktor and Phichit, he felt the music flow into his veins like never before. The tambourine, the drums, the bass, _everything_. He didn’t overpower it, he never did, he had such an appreciation for the instruments and the music that his voice was an accompaniment to it, not the centerpiece, and it melded perfectly.

Halfway through singing his heart out, he finally connected the dots, and his voice took a turn for the electric, for the powerful. He knew where he fit in the industry, finally, and he was amazed it had even taken him this long.

When it finished, the first thing he did was turn and grin _wide_ at the pair looking in from the window. Phichit’s eyes were wide with the suddenly emotional performance, and Viktor had a blush high on his voice, icy blue gaze glittering. “That was _beautiful_ , Yuuri!” Phichit exclaimed. “Right, Viktor?”

The older man stammered, and it was refreshing to see him blush and stutter so beautifully instead of the other way around. _I should sing like that more often._ “Y-yeah, that was gorgeous. Do you understand the type of music you’re suited for, Yuuri?” he asked quickly, looking away and adjusting himself in his seat.

He nodded. “Songs with respect for the music and emotional meanings, you know, to sing long and beautiful notes. Um, beautiful music, is the way that I’d describe it, and it sounds vague and generalized, but… um, I could sense the simple elegance in _Eyes Shut,_ the musicality and emotion in _Neptune_ , the range and flow of _Sweetest Devotion_ , so I think I get it.” He replied, nervously looking between his best friend and his manager ( _manager! He still couldn’t believe it.)_ “Right? Please tell me I’m right, my throat’s starting to hurt.”

Phichit laughed. “Yeah, I’d say you have a pretty good feel for what you can do. You’re the type of singer that performs when the night has slowed down, you get me? You wouldn’t open for a _Pitbull_ concert.”

Viktor scoffed beside him. “I wouldn’t open for a _Pitbull_ concert either, but that’s because I have taste.”

Yuuri laughed, finally relaxing in the situation. He finally had a good grasp on what he wanted to do and what was actually going on. It made him happy, to say the least.

“Now that we have your niche settled down, we need to have you sing just a couple of more songs that you connect with emotionally to record. We’re _definitely_ going to submit _Sweetest Devotion_ since you sang it so beautifully, but I feel like relating to it really helped. We’re going to need at least _four_ songs for the demo, like an EP, and only _one_ of those songs will be used for the actual EP, maybe two if we run out of ideas. I wrote a song for you that you can sing later, but there is _one_ more song we might need then, which you have to write yourself. In an EP, almost all of the songs should be pretty much original, but we can sneak in a cover if we really wanted to. Hell, you could be a cover artist if you wanted to. Won’t get very far that way, though.” Viktor explained. His eyes never left Yuuri’s, still sparkling from his performance of the Adele number. _He really enjoyed it. I’m surprised that he enjoys my singing when I’ve worshipped his for so long. It’s still such an amazing feeling_.

“Oh, but we haven’t even gotten to the fun part. You’ll start getting booked for gigs and concerts, but before that happens, we have to teach you how to _perform_ , not just _sing_. How to move your arms and smile and even _danc_ e if the situation arises, because _obviously_ not all of your songs are gonna be so slow!”

 _That’s… not such an amazing feeling._ Yuuri thought, sighing. “Really?”

“Yes! I learned to dance _all_ types of dances from Lilia Baranovskaya, you know, the woman that did Viktoria Modesta’s choreography?” Viktor said, and he said it so casually, as if he hadn’t just revealed something so impressive. _Well, it_ is _his life._ “She taught me how to dance. A very stern woman, too, very impressive. You’ll meet her when the time comes, of course.”

“V- _Viktoria_ _Modesta_ …” Phichit whispered under his breath, eyes wide with shock.

Viktor shrugged. “I’ve never met her, never seen her in person, but when Lilia told me she did her choreography, I went home to see the video and I was amazed. Then I thought back to what she put me through, and honestly, I wasn’t surprised. Viktoria’s style fit perfectly with Lilia’s choreography, aggressive and beautiful, all at once, so you can imagine what kind of woman she’d be.”

Yuuri thought back to what Viktor had said earlier. “Hey, Viktor, you… wrote me a song?” he mentioned, and when he looked at the man, he was blushing again.

“Yeah, it—I, yeah, I wrote you a song.” He stammered out. “It’s not finished yet but it’s your style and… we’ll need to fly in a violinist for it, but that’ll come later. We need to lock down the songs of your choice first and then record them and we, uh, we can get to my, uh _your_ song later.”

Phichit glanced between them with a knowing smile, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything. “Alright. That’s… That sounds like a plan.” Yuuri answered. “What should I sing next?” He was determined to make Viktor red again, simply because he seemed more human when he was flustered, and it was also a _very_ good look on him.

“Alright, this next one is a bit more upbeat and modern.” Phichit announced. “You know how to sing it anyway, so don’t worry.”

Yuuri grinned as the steady beat began, and he began to sing to _Justin Timberlake’s Mirrors_ , never losing eye contact with Viktor in the meanwhile.

He began to get addicted to Viktor’s eyes on him, and he knew it’d stay that way for a while.

 

* * *

 

The days that followed weren’t always spent at the recording studio. Yuuri had to work and so did Phichit, so the pair would have to go record on their days off, making progress every week instead of every day.

When it came time for Viktor to move into his apartment, the both of them called in sick to help him install furniture and get settled.

The bedframe and the mattress had been carried in by the delivery team, but the rest had been up to Viktor and Co. to clear up the apartment complex hallway. He had managed end tables and single seats by himself, but he had to get special help for the couch and the glass coffee table, as well as other things.

“With the furniture we ordered, your apartment is going to look great!” Phichit exclaimed once every box was inside. “Want us to help you set up?”

Yuuri groaned internally. His back hurt slightly and he just wanted to lay down for a while, not try to piece together how to build a chair from Ikea like he did their desk. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your kindness! You’ve already helped plenty by helping me bring in the furniture!” Viktor exclaimed, but it was so obvious it was a pleasantry.

“We insist! Besides, it’ll take you days to put all of this together. And we’re friends, so friends help each other, right?” Phichit chimed, and before he could give Viktor a chance to decline, he sat down besides his best friend and pulled a box for a dining chair towards them. “It’s more fun with people around, anyway.”

All Yuuri saw was Viktor smiling at them wide before he himself crawled over. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” He said, cutting off a section of tape with scissors. “The last time I properly moved in somewhere, I was… what, twenty? I’m twenty-seven, now.”

Yuuri smiled. “I was surprised you ordered so much furniture, but then again, that’s how normal people do it, right? We started with just our beds and drawers and built up from there. We moved into this apartment a while back, maybe… three years ago? I’m not sure. It’s so much better than the dorms at the university, that’s for sure.”

Phichit laughed, unfolding the long list of instructions. “Yeah, I remember how bad the dorms were. There was always screaming from somewhere, and the guys next door, what were their names? Alexander? And John? I’m pretty sure they were up to something every night because we kept hearing this _thumping—”_

Viktor laughed loudly, the lovely sound ringing in the empty apartment. He sighed, leaning back on his hands. “I remember when I lost _my_ virginity—“

“Viktor!” Yuuri chided, face suddenly red.

“What? We’re all guys here, it’s fine, right? Or do you have an issue with it, Yuuri?” Phichit teased, nudging him with his elbow. “Hmm? Do you?”

“N-No! I’m fine! Totally! Fine!” he exclaimed, and he was suddenly very focused on reading the Chinese version of the instructions, even though he knew shit about what it said.

“Yuuri, don’t tell me, you’re…” Viktor trailed off, raising an eyebrow towards Yuuri in amusement, or confusion, Yuuri couldn’t tell.

“U-Um, I’ve never… _done it_ with someone, per se, but I mean… I’m not _inexperienced_.” He said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“The song I wrote you, Yuuri,” Viktor began, and that was the first he’s heard of the song since the last session, “is about sexual love. I titled it _Eros_ , and it is about a man that comes to a certain town and enthralls the most beautiful of them all, then leaves them behind to pursue his next lover somewhere else. Something tells me, though, that your true _Eros_ won’t be that difficult to find.” The man had the audacity to _wink_ at Yuuri, who had just begun to get comfortable around him, and sent him all the way back to Square One: How to Deal with a Boner in Front of Your Crush.

“H-How can you be so sure?” Yuuri asked, face hot.

“I don’t know.” He teased. “I just do.”

Viktor stood up and excused himself to go to the restroom, and Yuuri swallowed as he watched his long legs take graceful steps, and _Jesus Christ this man will be the death of me._ He tried to ease some of the tension by breathing it out, but he knew it wouldn’t work. Nothing ever seemed to work to unwind Yuuri when he was around Viktor like this.

“If you guys don’t fuck by the end of the week, I’ll be very disappointed.” Yuuri heard Phichit mumble, and when he turned to look at his best friend in shock, he figures he must have imagined it, because he was very calmly trying to read the instructions, which Yuuri had failed to pretend to do.

He looked at the closed bathroom door almost longingly, as if he could somehow just get the courage to walk in there and pin Viktor against the wall, like he’s always wanted to do.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _I’m in so much trouble._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said. so many oneshots.
> 
> so far, the ones planned MIGHT be smut WHEN i get better at it but u can bet anything i'm definitely writing a fic where lilia and viktor teach yuuri how to dance ballroom dances and tangos and salsas and it's gonna REALLLLY help with yuuri's eros if u know what i mean ;))))


	5. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your skin on my skin, your kiss on my lips, I want to make you fall, I will watch as you fall."
> 
> Yuuri realizes something important, Viktor is bold, and a rope is involved. Metaphorically, though, as much as Yuuri wants to hang himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> not beta read :/

Yuuri Katsuki was in love with Viktor Nikiforov.

This wasn’t anything new.

However! However, Viktor Nikiforov is Yuuri Katsuki’s manager. This, Yuuri knows, is a gift from the gods, a once in a lifetime opportunity that he should not throw away simply because he thinks he is unworthy. He could go for it, he could take a step and _reach_ for the man, so close to him, so open; but he remembers, just as he’s about to speak and say _something_ to him, that Viktor is unreachable, untouchable.

For almost his entire life, Yuuri has admired him, respected him, loved him, _dreamed_ about him. It all goes back to the thought that, now that Viktor is so close, Yuuri has no idea what to do. And they’re friends now, he can say that pretty easily. After helping him move in next door and spending time with him, they’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. They were on the same level now, no pedestal to be seen here, because Yuuri sees Viktor as human, which he had not always been aware of before. Their relationship was fine.

Everything was fine. Great, actually. Perfect.

And yet, Yuuri could not help but want more.

He found himself thinking about Viktor more often than he would like to admit, which was normal when the man first appeared, because it was such a surprise. His mind went back to normal once he got comfortable with Viktor, sure, but then each lingering touch and gaze would send shivers crawling down his spine and beneath his skin. He knew he was in trouble when he began to like it. Thanks to that, everything has gone to shit and he can’t stop thinking about Viktor, Viktor, _Viktor_ , the name ringing around in his skull, in the back of his throat, on his tongue, bit back, while he showered in hot, hot water. He was helpless, to quote Philippa Soo and Lin-Manuel Miranda, down for the count, drowning in those shining, icy blue eyes.

Ever since Viktor mentioned the song that he wrote for Yuuri, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about writing his own songs, either. His trashcan is littered with balled up drafts and ideas, but there’s one outstanding theme for his song that he cannot get out of his head— _love_. He’s sure it’s thanks to Viktor, absolutely positive, but how can he be so honest about what he feels? It’s not something he’s ever done before, not in the form of a song, and he knew that he needed more confidence than he could ever hope to have to do it.

But he purchased a song-writing book, and it’s where he keeps all of his drafts and melodies. Yuuri has it tucked amongst the books in his bookshelf, made an _Encyclopedia of Flowers: Collector’s Edition_ label, and stuck on the spine so as to not arouse suspicion.

It’s what he’s staring at right now, sitting at his desk, chin on his palm, and he’s gazing longingly at everything he could think to say and put to music. He looked back at a picture frame hanging on his wall: Phichit, Viktor, and Yuuri, smiling up at his best friend’s selfie stick.

He looked back at his journal. An idea was born.

~

Yuuri watched as Phichit set down plates of pasta onto their dining table, untied the apron around his waist, and sat down beside his best friend. Viktor was sitting beside him, chin on his palm, staring. Even if he couldn’t see the older man, he could feel his eyes burning all over his face, and quickly a flush spread across his cheeks. As usual.

Nowadays, Viktor often stayed over for lunch, or lunch was at his place. He was quick to adapt to their way of switching turns when it came to cooking, and even though most of the plates he made were Russian, the pair enjoyed it nonetheless. Viktor was particularly fond of Yuuri’s cooking, despite the boy insisting that he’s “not nearly as good, not even in the same solar system,” as his mother at cooking, but the other would insist, saying that he is “absolutely perfect at cooking, singing, smiling and all other amiable qualities”. Yuuri was quick to brush this off with a smile, a laugh, and a blush, while Phichit sighed and tended to a sudden headache.

They ate in silence, but once they all finished, a conversation about recording that afternoon immediately came up, and Yuuri swallowed once Viktor mentioned the song that he wrote. “Since we’re finally going to get to work on the demo, we should practice _Eros_ first to see how he does.”

Phichit smiled inwardly as he leaned back in his chair and sipped from his cup of water. “Something tells me he’ll be better at it than you think.”

Yuuri looked over at Phichit with a questioning look, but then he glanced at Viktor, who was staring at him intently, again, smirk dancing on his lips. His beautiful, soft, pliant lips that Yuuri could just—

“Is it true? Is there some sort of sexual frustration you’d want to get off your chest?” Viktor teased, and Yuuri could feel it: he could feel this sort of pull towards Viktor, something magnetic, unstoppable. It was fueling him; it was what was sending that music from before flowing through his veins. He felt something like a _rope_ wrapped around his waist, holding him back, pulling him away even as he tried to move forwards, toward Viktor.

“I—” Yuuri began to stammer as he felt his face burn the brightest and most intense shade of red his body could come up with. “N-No! No! I—”

“Oh, poor Yuuri, he’s just shy.” Phichit teased as he picked up the empty plates from the table. “We’ll find out soon enough at the recording studio, anyway.” His voice carried to the kitchen, where Yuuri could hear Phichit begin to wash dishes. “While we’re on the subject of the recording studio, have you been going while we’re at work? The landlady told me that you dropped a USB on your way out yesterday.”

“Yes, I do actually— but why would Meredith tell you that?” Viktor asked, amusement ringing in his voice.

“We have tea in the mornings. We’re both Thai and, since we have that in common, we meet up to talk about current events after my run. I also get a lot of blackmail on other tenants, and trust me, the things I _hear_ — it’s amazing.” Phichit said as he poured leftover pasta in a Tupperware container. “Nevermind that, what do you do at the recording studio while we’re not there? Most of Yuuri’s music is on my USB.”

“I have my own career to worry about as well, Phichit.” Viktor answered, and Yuuri felt his heart drop, just a little. _Right. I took him away from that._

The rope tightened.

“I work on my own, original music. I’ve been trying to perfect Eros as much as possible for Yuuri, but I also have new music planned. I wasn’t lying when I said that, after meeting Yuuri, inspiration has hit me like a train.” Viktor explained. Yuuri wasn’t really paying attention anymore; he was staring down intently at his lap, feeling guilt snake around his throat.

Viktor had stopped working on his music for the time being, and it was all because of Yuuri. His fans were probably livid; Yakov had only announced Viktor’s break from music a few weeks ago, independently, and news outlets have been asking for Viktor’s input desperately. As far as Yuuri was concerned, he hadn’t spoken a word to them.

He knew Viktor’s followers _hated_ him. They didn’t need Viktor’s reason as to why he’s on a break; as intense as they were, they could draw their own conclusions and deduce that Viktor took time off for Yuuri, if his Instagram and prior concert performance could be considered proof. He would see false articles about himself on the internet, discussion boards about how he “ruined Viktor’s career” and “forced him to become his manager out of pity”. He never brought this up with Viktor. He didn’t think it was necessary. The man probably already knew.

He felt like a failure. He felt like he hadn’t worked hard enough, as Yurio told him before, to get to where he was now. He felt like all of this was just by chance, an opportunity given to a man that didn’t deserve it. It was all too good to be true.

When he glances at Viktor for only a second, he feels his heart stutter. _I shouldn’t have taken him away_. _He needs to go back_.

When Viktor catches his eye and smiles, his thoughts blank out, and he goes back to staring down at his lap.

“Well! Now that the kitchen is clean and everyone’s fed, we should probably hit the studio. We booked it from two to four, right?” Phichit asked, and Viktor nodded, standing up from his chair.

“Yes. At this point, all we need are two more songs and for you to record _Eros_ , since we’ll be including _Sweetest Devotion_ in the demo as well. Two hours is plenty of time.” Viktor answered. “Now, come on, get your things or we’ll be late.”

Yuuri sighed, took one last sip from his cup of water, and shrugged on his hoodie.

Something told him this recording session wasn’t going to be as simple as the last one.

~

The recording studio was cold, as it always was. Yuuri shivered as he walked in, but he noticed that Viktor and Phichit didn’t even bat an eye at the temperature, and immediately sat down at the two seats in front of the window. The Japanese man gulped.

“So, what should we do first? Have Yuuri sing the two other songs, or _Eros_?” Phichit asked. “I kind of want to see him sing _Eros_ first. He’s already seen the lyrics, right? He’s heard you sing it?”

Viktor blinked for a second, and a sheepish smile suddenly spread across his face. “No, I haven’t. I could sing it now.” He offered.

Yuuri stepped out of the way as Viktor walked into the smaller room, and he sat down where had been, suddenly feeling very small. Viktor was going to sing, in all of his glory, and Yuuri had a better seat than front row.

The silver-haired man nodded, and Phichit pressed a key on his keyboard. A Spanish guitar strummed out from the headphones Yuuri was wearing, and a stead beat rang out. There was something missing in the music, Yuuri felt. _Is it missing bass? Piano? What does it need?_ He picked up the piece of paper with the lyrics on it, skimming through it quickly.

Suddenly, Viktor began to sing.

It was beautiful. His eyes never left Yuuri’s as his voice, seductive, sultry, absolutely gorgeous, teased the music. His voice was enough to leave Yuuri a blushing mess, nevermind the _lyrics_. His heart seized at each double meaning and each tantalizing tease, like Viktor was singing for him and only for him. He was trying to commit every detail, every hitch in his voice to memory, so that he could replay it over and over in his head whenever he wanted.

The rope tightened.

When the song finished, he was breathless, even as Viktor took off his own headphones and exited the smaller room. “Got it?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, nodded, and hurried inside of the room, shaky hands pulling on his headphones. He had _no_ idea how he was going to do this.

When the music started, he felt his heart stutter again. Viktor’s eyes were on him, drinking him in again, his gaze heavy. He swallowed, and when it was his turn to sing, he tried to imitate Viktor as best he could, singing the lyrics on the paper with the same pace and tone as Viktor. When he finished, he looked up to see Phichit grinning, but Viktor was looking at Yuuri intently, eyes narrowed and a slight frown on his pale face, like he was in thought.

“V-Viktor?” he called, gently, trying to pull him out of his silence. The studio was heavy with tension.

“Phichit, could you leave the room for a moment?”

Phichit looked at Viktor with wide eyes before he nodded and just _booked it_. He was out faster than Yuuri could blink, and suddenly, the Japanese man realized that he and Viktor were completely alone. “Come out here, Yuuri.”

His eyes were downcast as the left the tiny room, and he was suddenly acutely aware of every mistake he had made while singing. Every crack in his voice, every fumble in the lyrics. _It was my worst performance yet. That’s why he’s angry at me, everyone else was right, I should just crawl under a rock and die—_

Viktor stood and walked over to him, all the way until Yuuri was backed into a corner and feeling how much shorter he was than the Russian man. “Eros is about sexual love, Yuuri, but I felt none of that when you sang just now. I felt the love in _Stay Close to Me,_ in _Sweetest Devotion_ , but now, there is just emptiness. There’s no feeling to it.”

Yuuri’s eyes never left the carpeted floor. _Has it always been brown? I swear the carpet was blue._ His thoughts were interrupted quickly when he felt Viktor’s strong hands tilt his chin upwards. Their eyes met immediately, and the smaller man gulped.

“Surely you have felt sexual love before, even if you’ve never experienced the act. You’ve felt the _want_ , the _desire_ , the _longing_ for a physical connection. The warmth, the buzzing, the _confidence_ , you’ve felt it.”

The rope tightened.

Yes, yes, yes he _has_. He feels it when he thinks of Viktor at night, or in the shower, or anywhere he can get some time alone and imagine what it would be like if Viktor was as close to him then as he was now. What it would be like to feel his kiss on his lips, his jaw, his neck; his hands on his body, roaming freely, because Yuuri was his territory to claim and he accepted it joyously.

Viktor leans in to whisper into Yuuri’s ear, and he feels everything around them stop, if it had ever moved to begin with. “I sang for you, _to_ you. I showed you my Eros, and I know you felt it just as much as I did.”

His heart was hammering in his ears now, pounding so loud he was sure it was going to give out at any second and burst. _What is he saying?_

“Show me your Eros, Yuuri.” His breath was hot on his neck, and he pulled away only slightly to look Yuuri in the eyes. They were only inches apart, and his thumb was brushing over Yuuri’s bottom lip dangerously, teasing him, who Viktor was probably sure was too flustered to act compulsively.

The rope _snapped_.

All caution, all doubt, was thrown immediately to the wind. It didn’t matter what Viktor’s fans thought of Yuuri Katsuki. It didn’t matter what Yurio thought of him, either. It didn’t matter that Viktor left his career for him, that Yuuri had such a long way to go, that Phichit was probably waiting outside the door and listening in, or that the clock was ticking and they only had so much time for recording left.

All that mattered was that Yuuri Katsuki was finally taking something he wanted with confidence, with surety in himself, the situation, and how he felt. It was flowing through his veins, pumping his heart awake from its slumber of doubt. He felt alive in a way he had never felt alive before.

He leaned forward and captured Viktor’s lips in a shaky kiss, emotional, powerful, raw and alive with the tension between them that had unraveled like thousands of rubber bands snapping at once. Viktor responded in kind, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist, pulling the both of them flush together. He was just as enthusiastic about kissing Yuuri as Yuuri was kissing _him_ , and the thought sent shivers running down his spine.

This was the buzzing, the warmth, the confidence that Viktor had described, thousands of times more powerful than any fantasy he could have used to relieve himself. This was real, rolling through him in waves as he lost himself in a kiss made from weeks, or perhaps _years_ , of _wanting_ the man in front of him. He melted into him, like he’s always dreamed of doing, like he’s always wanted to.

When they broke away from each other, their foreheads were touching. They were panting and gasping for air, Yuuri was blushing heavily, and Viktor wasn’t any different, eyes gleaming with something new that had just blossomed. Something that, apparently, he had wanted just as much as Yuuri had.

Yuuri had never been faced with a situation like this before. He’s dated other people, he’s kissed them, sure, but what do you even say when things turn out like this? Was he just supposed to say _thanks for kissing me, I really needed that_ , or something? Did he kiss Viktor again? Could he just make out with him until the session ended? What did this mean for—

Viktor kissed him again, something slow, something languid, something gentle, and every thought was calmed. _I could get used to this_.

“Sing to me, for me, like you kissed me. Sing to me with every feeling that just transpired, let it take over.” Viktor whispered. “Show me your Eros, Yuuri.”

The older man pulled away completely, his arms no longer holding Yuuri close, and the smaller man immediately missed his embrace, his lips. _Viktor kissed me._ He thought. _He_ wants _me._ He walked into the smaller room as Viktor called Phichit back in, who immediately started to look between them and try to decipher what had just happened.

“Play the music.” Yuuri heard Viktor say, and sure enough, Phichit pressed play.

Yuuri took a deep breath and let it go, remembering the lyrics, the meaning of the song; he was supposed to _seduce_ , and after everything that had just happened, he felt like he _could_. Viktor _wanted_ him, just as much as Yuuri did, and it began to dance in his head, the thought that he was his and vice versa. Viktor was practically a god in the music industry, a legend, but Yuuri had the ability to bring him to his knees, inspire him, make him sing with meaning and _want_.

When his voice rang into the microphone, it was crystal-clear _beauty_. There he went, making the song _his_ and his _alone_ , because Viktor wrote it for him, because he _loved_ Viktor and _wanted_ him with an intensity, but so did he; Yuuri was going to play this lovely game with him as best he could, like a woman teasing a man who thought he was too powerful to fall.

He didn’t care what the people thought of him anymore. No, scratch that— he wanted them to hate him, he _wanted_ them to remember Yuuri as the man who stole Viktor away from the music world because he _could,_ because he _wanted_ to. Viktor was _his_ now, and Yuuri could be selfish. He didn’t feel like giving him back any time soon.

He felt the emotions surge within him as he sang. His eyes never left Viktor’s as he hit every note, singing for him, to him, like he knew the man wanted. This was happening, and Yuuri didn’t want to run away anymore; he didn’t want to brush it away with a smile, a laugh, and a blush. He wanted to take it; to hear Viktor whine for him underneath his fingertips, to feel his kiss and touch and embrace. He wanted Viktor, in this song and in everything else, more than he wanted anything else in his entire life.

When the song ended, Viktor was staring with an adoring smile. “Phichit,” he began, “please make sure to keep that track. That’s the best I’ve heard from Yuuri yet.”

Phichit was just staring at Yuuri, shell-shocked, at an absolute loss for words. Yuuri knew he had _never_ seen this side of Yuuri, this confident man, singing to someone just as much as he was singing for someone.

As Phichit suddenly began to pester Viktor with questions about what had happened, Yuuri lifted his fingers to his bottom lip, where he could still feel Viktor’s kiss lingering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ;) INTENSIFIES *  
> SORRY I MADE THE FIRST NOTE AND SUMMARY SO SUGGESTIVE LMAO
> 
> sorry it's so short ok but i am SURE the content makes up for it and it's almost 2 AM  
> it's been a while since i last updated :'( i simply haven't had the chance.  
> it's okay tho, hopefully updated will become a lil more regular  
> maybe i'll update every wednesday. maybe. to fill the gaping hole in my heart that yoi has left
> 
> (jan 9 is my birthday btw, so there might be a oneshot published then to celebrate :) )

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @queen_viicky and feel free to comment if you wanna read more, i live for attention and this god damn mf ship
> 
> merry christmas eve


End file.
